


Thought of You And Where You'd Gone

by thedisgruntledone



Series: The World Spins Madly On [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo returns home, he expects to need a period of adjustment. What he doesn't expect is to miss his friends so much he aches with it, or to miss one friend more than rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thought of You And Where You'd Gone

**Author's Note:**

> First, this is an everybody lives AU.
> 
> Second, his takes place in the same universe as The World Spins Madly On, but I don't think that you really need to read that to get this. One or two mentions of former events take place in this work, but they are minor. 
> 
> Third, please enjoy!

His friends managed to keep him with them for nearly a year before he put his foot down.

“I really must return home,” he told them, resolutely not noticing the way the light in their eyes dimmed at his determination. “My home must be a shambles, that is if the Sackville-Bagginses haven’t already moved in, and my garden! I don’t even want to think about the state it must be in at this point.” His eyes happened to catch on Thorin as he said this, and he couldn’t help but see the way his jaw clenched, the way he avoided meeting Bilbo’s gaze. Something in Bilbo’s chest tightened to the point of pain, stopping the flow of words, and he found himself reduced to looking helplessly at them all, pleading with his eyes for them to make this easier on him.

Thorin’s own eyes closed briefly; he swallowed hard, then nodded decisively. “So shall it be,” he agreed softly, every inch the King that he was always meant to be. “I will see to it that you have someone to escort you – and your share of treasure – home safely.” All this was said without a glance in Bilbo’s direction, although he tried desperately to catch his eyes.

“You needn’t-“ he began, but Thorin was already walking away, back straight and stiff. Bilbo watched him go, biting his lip and very nearly wringing his hands in consternation. He didn’t want to hurt Thorin, didn’t want to hurt any of them, but he longed for home with an ache that was nearly physical. He was never meant for stone and marble, never meant to spend so much of his time living in a cold, hard mountain. He needed his garden and his books and his own little hobbit hole like he needed air, and there was nothing that can change that. No matter how it broke his heart.

It took several weeks to finalize the details of his journey – nearly the whole Company had volunteered to take him back home, and the resulting fights between Thorin and his nephews when he told them that they could not go had been long and intense. Bilbo had spent much of that time in the newly rebuilt Dale, taking refuge from the shouting with the Men. In the end it was decided that none of the original Company would make the return with him, on the grounds that it would be unfair to the ones that were left behind. This news dampened Bilbo’s spirits, even though he almost understood the reasoning behind the decision. He thought wistfully that it would have been nice if he could have had at least one of them with him, but put the thought firmly out of his mind almost before it was fully formed. He would not be able to have his companion of choice accompany him in any case, he told himself, nor his heirs, who were nearly as dear to him, and it was best that he be with dwarves who did not know him as well as the others, for then the pain of separation would not be as keen.

So he told himself, and so he tried to believe, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help wishing that his friends could take him home, so that he might have a little more time with them. He fully intended to invite them to visit at any time, but he knew very well how long the journey to see him would be. He wasn’t expecting any guests.

Once his traveling plans had been settled, it was only a matter of gathering supplies, and that process did not take nearly long enough for any of his friends. They did their best to find as many excuses to keep him as possible – Ori loaded him down with enough books and Balin enough pipe weed that yet another chest had to be located to carry it all, and then Bofur insisted that the chests he was given were not nearly serviceable enough to last the entire travel home. He and Nori scoured all of Erebor for ones more suitable, but kept finding fault until an exasperated Thorin offered up his own, and then they could say no more. Dwalin took Sting away, claiming that he was going to sharpen it, and Bilbo didn’t see his little sword for three days, until Thorin brought it back with a scowl. Fili and Kili took to hiding his things so that he couldn’t find them to pack properly, but Thorin found that out as well and shouted them down, forcing them to bring everything back and pack it themselves so that Bilbo could leave as he wished.  

For his part, Bilbo did want to be on his way, but he would be lying if he tried to claim that he wasn’t gratified by the attempts to delay him, or hurt by Thorin’s obvious hurry to have him gone. He did not believe that Thorin had come to dislike him once again – he had known him too long and far too well to ever suspect that – but he did wish that his gruff King would do or say something that would show that he might miss having Bilbo around. He had to leave, he knew this, but he didn’t like that the separation from his dearest friend had started before he’d even begun his journey back home.

The morning that he was due to leave was flat and grey. The clouds hung low around the mountain, thunder grumbling and rain threatening to fall at any minute, and Bilbo caught himself thinking that it reflected his mood perfectly. He knew he had to leave, but when the time came he found himself extremely reluctant to do so. He peered up at the angry looking clouds, wanting more than anything to put of his journey for another day or so, to stay and smoke with Balin and read with Ori and listen to Dwalin play his pipe once more. Perhaps to dance with-

But no. He put the thought out of his mind and squared his shoulders, turning away from the clouds to face his friends, all of whom had shown up to say goodbye. All but one. His eyes searched over the familiar faces again and again, scanning for a pair of solemn blue eyes, but he did not find them. Thorin was not there. He had not come. Bilbo’s heart sank, but he forced a small, shaky smile for the rest of them, blinked back the tears that filled his eyes.

“My friends. My dear, dear friends. How I will miss you all. I. I know that it is a long journey, and that there isn’t much cause for you to make it. That you are all needed here. But. But should you find yourselves nearby, please, please don’t hesitate to visit. My door is always open to you, no matter the time. I will always be at your service.”

The words made the tears spill over, finally, and he wiped them away hurriedly, sniffing. His friends crowd around him, all of them trying to hug him at once, burying him under a mountain of arms and hair, their own tears wetting his neck and shoulders. His back was thumped over and over, his hand shaken many times. And still Thorin did not come.

Kili noticed where Bilbo’s eyes kept straying and sighed heavily. “We tried to get him to come,” he says softly, bending low so only Bilbo was able to hear. “Fili even threatened to leave with you if he did not show his face, but he would be stubborn and stay away. It isn’t because he doesn’t care, Bilbo, it’s just…Thorin doesn’t deal well with losing people.”

“He hasn’t lost me,” Bilbo snapped back, still wiping at his eyes. He needed his handkerchief. A square of cloth was pressed into his hand, and he gave Bofur a grateful smile before he turned back to Kili. “He hasn’t lost me,” he repeated, “I just need to be in my own home. Surely he can understand that, considering all he went through to reclaim his own.”

“He does understand,” Kili said earnestly, “He just…it’s just hard for him, watching you leave.” He widened his eyes meaningfully at Bilbo, obviously trying to communicate something, but Bilbo, tired and heartsick and not in the mood for guessing games, looked away.

“He should have known better. Erebor is not for hobbits.”

Kili winced at these words, and Bilbo instantly felt like a heel. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was unkind. I love it here, I do, and if I did not have my own Bag End I should be happy to spend the rest of my days in Erebor’s halls, with my dearest friends for company. However, I do have Bag End, and it will always be my home. Please, try to understand. Try to make him understand.”

“Oh, Bilbo, we do. I promise you that.” Kili hugged Bilbo hard, nearly cracking his ribs, then turned and fled back into the mountain, leaving Bilbo to stare after him helplessly. Kili’s mobility had improved in the year since the Battle, and he moved fast enough that Bilbo knew he would have no hope of catching him.

Fili clasped his shoulder, nearly sending him to his knees. “Kili is a bit emotional right now, but he really does understand,” he promised, smiling, “and so does Thorin. It will just take them a while to come to terms with it. We all hoped you’d stay, but those two hoped for it maybe a bit more than the rest of us.” He gave Bilbo another one of those speaking looks, then hurried after his brother.

“Fili!”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“Tell Thorin…tell him that he is welcome, too, should he ever find himself near. I know that he probably won’t be able to visit, being king, but please. Please tell him, should he ever wish it…”

“Of course,” Fili replied with a fond smile, then dashed off.

Balin was next, and he took Bilbo’s face in his hands before planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll miss you, laddie. Be safe, and don’t forget to stop and have a good smoke every now and then.” He winked, then went inside with the others. Bofur came forward and hugged him hard, then Dwalin. Bombur handed him a bunch of recipes, and Ori yet another book. Nori gave him a set of lockpicks, and Dori took them back with a slap to Nori’s head, making Bilbo laugh. Bifur called something to him and waved cheerfully, Gloin and his entire family nearly crushed him in their embrace, and Oin yelled that he would be missed directly into his ear, making him wince with pain. Then they were all gone, and Bilbo was alone with his entourage.

“Ready, Master Baggins?” Berin, the leader, asked, and Bilbo nodded, sparing one last glance behind him as he turned, hoping that Thorin might finally have changed his mind. He was not there. Biting his lip, Bilbo shouldered his pack and took the first step home, the first step away from Erebor. He did not look back, and even if he had he would not have known where to look to see the lone figure standing upon one of the mountain’s many cliffs, who watched his departure with a horrible sadness etched into the lines of his face.

The journey back was almost boring compared with the one to reclaim Erebor, and the most danger Bilbo had to contend with was too much hospitality from his friends. He stopped to visit with each of them as he traveled, and they all wanted him to stay longer than he’d planned, which was about a week in each case. They all were lengthened into a fortnight, but each time Bilbo refused to stay any longer…except for Rivendell. There he lingered, with pleasure, for over a month, walking the gardens and halls with Elrond and getting to know the other elves. He finally learned the name of the glorious Lady who had offered him such comfort during one of his loops, and he spend two wonderful days basking in her presence. When he parted from Rivendell it was with many promises to return should he ever find himself nearby, and he told himself that even if he never made it as far as Erebor again, he would see himself walking Rivendell’s halls again.

His return home both was and wasn’t everything he’d expected it to be. All of his things had been sold, just as he’d known they would be, but he was willing enough to buy back what he could – aside from his silver, which he just _knew_ was currently residing in Lobelia’s house and which he intended to take back with extreme prejudice – and the house was bare and full of dust and cobwebs. Bilbo sighed heavily when he entered, and ran a weary hand over his face before he got down to the business of taking stock of what had been left for him to salvage. A cursory search of the rooms shows that not much was left – a few pictures that meant nothing to anyone but him, one or two chairs, a dresser. Everything else was gone, and he went back out to face his companions with a wry smile on his face.

“I would like very much to offer you a bed,” he told them, “but I am afraid that at this point that is not possible. I can buy some food at the market, however, and use some of the things that I brought to cook it. I can also offer you a floor, and a warm fire, once I find some wood. Tomorrow I will locate my beds, and then you shall have somewhere comfortable to rest before your return home. At least no one has moved in, although I am sure the Sackville-Bagginses tried. I bet the Gaffer kept them from it, wonderful chap, I’ll have to thank him when I see him. Speaking of, I wonder how my gardens are doing…” and he wandered off, still talking to himself, leaving his escorts to share amused glances with each other.

For the next week or so they were all consumed with the business of getting all of Bilbo’s things returned to him. It was not nearly so difficult as he feared, due in part to his neighbors being good natured enough to part with his things for a small sum of money, some even waving him away when he offers. It was also due to his escorts, who were much larger and more intimidating than any resident of Hobbiton could ever hope to be. One look at the hulking dwarves behind him and any hobbit who might be tempted to swindle Bilbo would find himself rethinking that decision pretty quickly. These escorts were not particular friends of Bilbo’s, but they liked him well enough, and they took the orders of their King very seriously. Thorin had told them to make sure that Bilbo was well settled before they left, and well settled he would be, even if they had to knock down every door in the Shire to make it so. Happily, that was not the case.

The only reluctance that Bilbo encountered was from the expected quarter. The Sackville-Bagginses would not give Bilbo his silver, they said, for it should have been theirs all along. The hutch had always been in their house, they insisted, and the feather beds had been found at a steal in Longbottom, thank you very much, now will you please get off our property.

Bilbo laughed when he heard this, and then marched right up to Lobelia and thus began a shouting match that lasted a good ten minutes, resulting in hoarse voices, red faces and clenched fists, but Bilbo walked away with his mattresses and his silver. He didn’t much care about the hutch.

The Sackville-Bagginses were the last and the worst, and after his dealings with them Bilbo finally felt that he had enough of his things back to once again feel at home. Everything he really loved, really held dear, had some sort of sentimental value, and he would never have felt at home without any of it. Once he got his old things back, he began incorporating them with the new. New books went up on his shelves beside the old, Sting is hung up with his now threadbare but much loved traveling cloak, the mithril coat tucked away in the back of his wardrobe. He tucked the chests full of gold away in the corner, and placed his new food in his pantry, then filled his pipe and went outside to smoke and enjoy life, finally feeling that he had returned. Not two days after his guests took their leave of him, with many handshakes and well wishes, and Bilbo was left to his own devices.

He was busy for a time, tending to his garden – though Hamfast had kept it up very well, in spite of thinking that he was dead – and his home, fully restoring it to the way that it was before he’d left. Most days he worked so hard that he only made a small meal for dinner before falling into bed, exhausted, far too tired to think about all the things he missed now that he was back where he belonged. He kept himself so busy that it took him a while to realize that conversations often stopped when he walked by, that his neighbors were far more likely to give him suspicious looks than smiles when he was out and about, doing his shopping or merely going for a walk.

He shrugged it off. He had been gone for years with no explanation, had been presumed dead, and had then returned with a bunch of dwarves, wearing strange clothes and full of even stranger tales, demanding his things back as though he had just stepped out to do some shopping, carrying enough gold to fill his house three times over if that’s what he wanted. It was only normal that there would be some awkwardness. He had forgotten how to live at Bag End, how to be sociable with his neighbors, but he would learn. He would learn, and they would calm down, and everything would get back to normal.

So he told himself, and so he tried to believe, but as time wore on he found himself feeling more and more separated, not less. He formed some friendships again – the older crowd stayed aloof, miffed by the scandal his disappearance had caused, but the younger ones began to come by more and more to hear of his journeys, the Tooks and Brandybucks especially, and Hamfast of course remained a loyal and steadfast friend. He saw nothing wrong with Bilbo’s random disappearance and return, and he was just as eager to hear all about his travels as the younger set. Then there were the elves that would randomly stop by to say hello, something that dismayed the older hobbits but delighted the younger set. After a while Bilbo found himself with quite the crowd of friends, and he never suffered for any sort of company. It was a good life.

And yet. Despite the joys of hearth and home, despite his friends and the simple joys of working in his garden, eating food he’d cooked in his own house and smoking on his own front lawn, there was an ache that persisted, an ache for what he’d left behind. It was a constant gnawing sensation in his stomach, like being hungry but not being able to find any food that would satisfy him, until he found himself wondering miserably if he was doomed to always be longing for somewhere else; if that was the price of adventure. Occasionally he wondered if he might do it all differently, given the chance. He shied away from that thought, remembering all too clearly the consequences of getting that wish. For the most part he was content; he had his books and his garden, his new friends, and the letters that he often received from both Balin and Ori, keeping him up to date on what his friends in Erebor were doing. If he occasionally thought of one of those friends more than the others, if he scoured the letters he received for the sight of one name before he settled in to read them, if he wished that even one of those letters could come from that dwarf, well, no one aside from Bilbo himself would know, and those thoughts were easily dismissed. It was enough.

The knock on the door one evening as he was settling in for supper was not really a surprise. Being the Hobbiton oddball meant that he often received visitors at all hours, hobbits and sometimes elves dropping by to hear a story or simply say hello, so when the knock came he simply smiled ruefully to himself, tied his dressing gown more firmly about his waist, and went to answer the door.

Finding himself tackled by two exuberant dwarves was unexpected, but not unwelcome in the least. He hugged his friends as tightly as he could, laughing with delight as tears sprung to his eyes. Behind them stood their mother, smiling indulgently at the tangle of limbs blocking the doorway. Once Bilbo let go of Fili and Kili he reached for her, and quickly found himself wrapped in another strong embrace.

“DÍs!” he exclaimed happily with what breath was left to him, “It is so good to see you!”

“And you, dear Bilbo,” she replied, beaming at him. She led him inside, where Fili and Kili had already made themselves quite at home, sitting in his kitchen with their feet propped up on the table. One look from DÍs had them putting their feet on the floor, contrite expressions on both their faces. Bilbo beamed at them and led DÍs to his own seat, offered her his dinner which she accepted gratefully, causing both of her sons to pout in Bilbo’s direction. He waved them away with a laugh.

“Don’t stand on ceremony now. You know where the pantry is.”

They were off in a flash, and soon Bilbo heard the sounds of his pantry being decimated. He couldn’t bring himself to become upset about it though; he was too busy remembering the last time that they’d been in his pantry, and what had followed. The ever present ache, which had lessened for a moment in their presence, returned, and Bilbo looked down at the table. DÍs saw this and frowned, assuming it had something to do with her sons, and she opened her mouth, ready to censure them, but Bilbo quickly shook his head. “I don’t mind,” he assured her. “They can hardly destroy the place worse than they did the first time they visited.”

DÍs’ lips twitched under her beard. “No, I don’t suppose they can. So long as you’re sure they’re no trouble.” She resumed the meal that Bilbo had given her, not speaking, which left Bilbo to watch her face, and to think how like Thorin’s it looked in the flickering firelight. The ache in his chest intensified, deepened, and Bilbo nearly cried out at that pain of it. He realized with a sudden clarity that he’d missed Thorin so much more than he’d known, that he, more than any of the others, was the cause for the ache inside him that would not lessen. The realization staggered him, and he lost his breath. Thankfully, DÍs did not look up from her meal, and by the time Kili and Fili returned from the pantry with food laden plates, he’d composed himself enough that he could laugh at how much they were able to balance on his dishes. He snatched a thick piece of bread from Kili’s plate and a slice of ham from Fili’s, and they both let out mock cries of outrage and made swipes for their food, making a huge mess until DÍs gave them a stern look and they settled, Bilbo included.

When they had all calmed down, she turned to Bilbo. “Tell us how you’ve been. We’ve missed you so – Erebor just isn’t the same without you there.”

Bilbo ducked his head, blushing. “Surely not,” he replied, shyly pleased.

“Of course it’s true!” Kili cried, waving a piece of chicken. Crumbs flew from his mouth. “None of us is the same without you. Dwalin doesn’t play as much, Balin has become stingy with his pipe weed (“Not that _we’ve_ asked for any”, Fili interjected with a nervous look at his mother), Ori spends far too much time in the library. And _we_ don’t have nearly as much fun, Thorin has become such a grump-ouch!” Kili glared at Fili, then his eyes widened slightly when he saw Bilbo’s concerned expression. “Not that he isn’t well, of course. He just has a lot on his plate, what with being king and all. He’s very stressed, and you made him lighter-“

“Kili, darling, hush,” DÍs interrupted gently as she reached over to cover his mouth.

Fili shook his head. “Honestly, Kili,” he said, exasperated, and Kili blushed.

DÍs sighed, and removed her hand from Kili’s mouth to grasp Bilbo’s. “He misses you, of course, there’s no denying that,” she said, “but above all he wants you to be happy. He knows why you left, and he doesn’t hold it against you in the least. None of us do. We all just want your happiness, dear Bilbo.”

Bilbo smiled tremulously. “I am happy, though I miss you all more than I can say. I wish that Erebor were not so very far, or that hobbits were more accustomed to travel, but I fear that neither of those things will ever be true. I am so glad that you are here, though. Please tell me that you can stay awhile.”

They could, and did. Bilbo had three blissful months with his friends, until duty pulled Fili back homeward. There were many tears at parting, and not just from Bilbo. He was hugged over and over by all three of them, and on her final hug DÍs whispered in his ear that she would convince Thorin to come visit. “Fili is more than capable of ruling Erebor in his stead; and it won’t be forever. I know the visit would do you both good.” Bilbo clung tighter to her at this and wished, but he told himself firmly not to hope, not to expect, because he would only be disappointed. Thorin would not come.

After that first visit, the ice was broken, and Bilbo leaned to count on at least one of his friends coming by his little hobbit hole every couple of months. In time they had all made the journey, all but one, and the horrible disappointment that Bilbo felt every time he opened the door and Thorin was not on the other side of it forced him to acknowledge that he had done the very thing he promised he wouldn’t – he had hoped that Thorin might come visit him.

He did not ignore Bilbo altogether. He sent his well wishes with every group that came to see Bilbo, and he often sent gifts as well, but those did not lessen the pain of missing him. But Bilbo knew that getting away would never be as easy for Thorin as it was for the others – Fili and Kili coming to visit was its own sort of miracle – so he told himself not to be selfish and wrote answers to Thorin’s questions, sent back his own well-wishes and trinkets, and never, not once, begged him to visit the way he wanted to. He forced himself to be happy with what he was getting, and let it go.

Time passed, and Bilbo grew more settled into his life. He received his visitors with pleasure when they came, enjoyed his solitude when they did not, and over time learned to live with the longing to see the friend who would not come. After all, he never took his friends up on their offers to have him visit Erebor, either. The journey would be too long for him, he told himself, and anyway he would no longer be comfortable among Erebor’s halls. He reconnected with some of his kin, and took great delight in watching his cousin Drogo in particular grow up, delighted in his visits and his merriment.

Sometimes he pulled out his old ring, simply to look at it and to think of how it had saved him so many times before. He liked to turn it in the light, to twist it in his fingers and look at it, watching the gold glint and spark. He hardly ever put it on anymore – only when he wished to avoid certain visitors or wanted a spot of time to himself – but he still liked the look of it in his palm. He worried sometimes about that – worried that maybe the ring was a little less benign than he wanted to believe – but that worry was always easily pushed aside. The ring was his, it was harmless, and he hardly used it anymore. There was nothing to worry about, surely.

After several years had gone by, Bilbo began to feel a buzzing under his skin. His walks into the forest became longer and longer, and he ventured farther out each time, until he realized that if he kept venturing like this he would soon be wandering out in the dark. He made a decision: he would go to Rivendell. He would visit the friends he had made there and then he would journey back, his need for a little adventure sated. With this goal in mind, he arranged everything. Elrond had been applied to and had agreed to have him for a visit, and Hamfast was to take care of his place while he was away, to keep his things from being sold. His friends around Hobbiton would stop by occasionally to make sure that no one was trying to sneak in and retake his silver, and also to direct any of his other visitors to where he had gone, if they happened to be from out of town.

The night before he was set to leave, he skipped dinner in favor of walking about his house in giddy anticipation. He was excited for his small adventure, excited to get away and travel a little. He wanted also to see Rivendell once more, to walk its halls and unlock more of its mysteries. He was so excited to be off that he nearly groaned when he heard the knock on the door. While he was never opposed to visitors generally, he wanted nothing more than to slip on his ring and pretend not to be home. He might have done so, had the knock not come again, louder and more insistent. It made him worry that it was not a visitor at his door, but someone with an emergency, and he rushed to open it. He flung it open, worried, and then stopped, mouth falling open in utter shock.

“I would have been here sooner, but I got lost,” Thorin told him, fidgeting nervously on his doorstep. He looked nearly the same as he had so many years ago, the only change a couple of lines in his face and wider streaks of grey in his hair. He looked wonderful.

Bilbo gaped a moment more, then found his wits and fairly flung himself at his old friend, completely oblivious to the surprised noise he made, only aware of how Thorin’s own arms came up to close about him tightly, how he bent his head to bury his face in Bibo’s curls. How the ache that he’d learned to live with had disappeared as soon as he’d seen his dear friend’s face.

He pulled back reluctantly. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said happily, beaming up at Thorin. “I thought you’d never make it.”

“I almost didn’t. The mark on your door is faded,” he explained off of Bilbo’s look, “I got lost looking for this place.”

Bilbo laughed, delighted. “But you found it, and now you must stay. How long do you have?”

Thorin hesitated, and Bilbo felt his face fall. “Please tell me it’s more than a day or two,” he said, not caring for the pleading note that had entered his own voice but still unable to help it. If Thorin could only stay, he would cancel his Rivendell plans. He didn’t want to say goodbye so soon.

“Bilbo…”

“Oh. Oh. A day or two. Okay. Well, we can…we can work with that. You’re busy, running a kingdom. I understand. I do. I-“

“Bilbo, listen to me,” Thorin interrupted, reaching out and grasping Bilbo’s hands in his own. “I have more than a day or two.” He paused, shifted slightly, then took a deep breath. “I have as long as you want. Fili is more than capable of ruling in my stead now, so I can stay as long as you can stand me.” He swallowed hard. “I’d like to stay as long as you can stand me.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to fidget, to be nervous, but he took his courage in both of his hands. He knew how proud Thorin was, what it had taken him to say what he had, and Bilbo owed it to him to be just as honest. He took a deep breath of his own. “So, forever then?” he asked in a voice that trembled only slightly.

A slow smile full of pure happiness lit Thorin’s face, and as he watched it happen Bilbo at last felt that he'd truly come home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :D


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